


Emotional Support Vest

by UnitedPen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnitedPen/pseuds/UnitedPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya meet during a tense plane ride. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Plane Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Basically 2,000 words of fluff I thought of after I saw the clip of Henry Cavill with his dog at the airport.

“Did you see him pet his dog?”

“I saw! Isn’t he cute?”

Illya rolled his eyes at the two young girls sitting beside him at the crowded airport gate. He tried to turn back to the spy novel he had just neglected. After listening to their incessant gossiping for nearly half an hour, he had actually followed their gaze and pointed fingers to the seats two rows down from Illya and the girls.

What he saw made him even more annoyed than the jam-packed airport he was forced to navigate during Christmas. There was Napoleon Solo, the almost infamous son of the award-winning director.

Not that Illya made a habit of learning about bratty troublemaking offspring. But when he was living with his aunt and uncle during his first year in the United States, he was exposed to his cousin’s world of movie stars, top 40 hits, magazines and bizarrely, Napoleon Solo. Illya blamed his cousin’s obsession on her proximity to Los Angeles.

During his teenage years, the man had started making international gossip headlines for thievery, which Illya guessed shocked the world because his dad was so talented. By the time Illya was able to move into his own shoe box apartment in New York, Napoleon had been caught, started community service and his cousin was lamenting Napoleon’s new girlfriends, which he seemed to cycle through every time his dad had a red carpet event.

Now he was just trying to ignore the two preteens as they chatted about Napoleon’s dad’s latest movie, and how Napoleon might just go into acting himself. He was also trying to overlook the slow burning rage he felt inside when he thought about the pseudo-celebrity. Illya knew he was being irrational but he couldn’t help it. Sure he was good looking but Illya despised people who get away with murder because of who their daddy was and basically had everything in life handed to them. His keen eyes had noticed an emotional support vest on the dog. He was willing to bet his meager life savings that it was a fake vest.

* * *

 

Napoleon could hear the voices of the two girls sitting two rows down from him. Their giggles only got louder when he looked up, which was often as he stealthily tried to catch the eye of the man sitting beside them. Unfortunately, the blond never looked up from the novel.

He was used to the stares from the girls and from others walking from security or to the baggage claim. He had made a mockery of his dear dad’s fame when the paparazzi caught on to his schemes and it was only the careful intervention of his late mother’s grandparents that stopped Napoleon from losing his trust fund and instead had him paying for his own therapy.

It was the same therapist who recommended a private jet when Napoleon flew, which his dad refused during the few times Napoleon saw him during the year, then moved on to recommend an emotional support dog for flights and during university. His dad had finally conceded over a phone call when Napoleon suffered through a panic attack at one of his premiers.

Although Napoleon had named the golden retriever after James Gordon, his mom’s favourite comic book character, he was about as tough as a teddy bear. Still, Napoleon was grateful for the solid presence beside him as he tried to distract himself

“Will Napoleon Solo please report to Gate A21?”

A deep sigh left Napoleon’s lips. So much for his eye candy and awkward attempts at flirting from across the room. Grabbing James Gordon’s leash and his duffel bag, he shuffled up to the desk.

“I’m Napoleon Solo,” Napoleon said with his trademark grin. He knew this wasn’t about being moved to business class, since he had booked the ticket himself, so he thought maybe there was a problem with his name.

The male attendant turned a critical eye toward him before glaring at his dog.

“Sir, your dog needs to be put in a crate and we can take him to cargo. I don’t know why you didn’t do this earlier. We are going to start boarding in a few minutes.”

Napoleon could almost feel the anxiety creeping up his body.

“What? No…no he’s got a vest.”

The attendant narrowed his eyes. “Anyone can buy those vests. We have a full flight and your dog needs to go into cargo. If you don’t have a crate, we do have a spare.”

“No….please I have a doctor’s note.” Napoleon’s bag fell to the ground with a thud and he dropped down to the ground right after, frantically digging and desperately hoping no one around his was taking any shots on their phone. Papers were strewn across the floor as Napoleon hunted deeper in his bag. A sinking feeling filled his stomach as he realized he had left the note in the top pocket of his luggage when he was packing.

“It’s…it’s in my suitcase but please, he needs to stay with me.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you sir.”

If the attendant noticed Napoleon’s harsh breathing or trembling body, he made no changes to his expression.

“Amanda here will be happy to take your dog.”

Napoleon slowly stood, ignoring the mess he made as a female attendant appeared in front of Napoleon, beckoning for the leash attached to James' collar. Racing thoughts telling him to just say how important he was or how this dog was essential did not help Napoleon speak a single word as his dog was led away, whining.

“You will see him after the flight,” said the male attendant, who had turned back to his computer screen.

“We are boarding business so if you give me your ticket and passport, you can get on the plane.”

Not wanting to be in the man’s presence any longer, Napoleon hastily stuffed his bag before giving the worker his essential documents.

“Have a nice flight.”

Napoleon faintly heard the obligatory comment as he raced toward the plane, not wanting to stand on his wobbly legs any longer.

* * *

 

Illya was almost smiling. His habit of boarding the plane last, to avoid all the stalling as people settled in their seats, had paid off. A no-show meant he had been bumped up to business class with no additional cost. He certainly appreciated the gesture. Illya wasn’t a big man but at 6’5” his long limbs and tall stature had been known to annoy some passengers.

His mood soon darkened, however, as soon as he saw who his seat partner was. For once, he put his carry-on in the overhead compartment as slow as he could before he sat down, crossing his arms while the flight attendants did their safety check.

“Do you mind moving your arm so I can have armrest?” Illya’s Russian accent grew stronger at his irritation toward Napoleon taking up the large area.

“S-sorry,” Napoleon whispered, turning back toward the window to curl up in his seat, arms tucked under his legs.

Illya’s eyes widened at the stutter. The man sounded nothing like the suave gentleman he had heard during interviews.

In fact, he looked very different from the paparazzi photographs or even earlier at the airport. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were red rimmed and he looked almost green.

“Are you going to be sick?” Illya asked. He wasn’t about to switch seats if Napoleon had motion sickness, but he wanted Napoleon to at least have a bag in front of him.

Napoleon shook his head. “I…I don’t know.” A hand went up to cover his mouth and Illya could have sworn he heard a whimper as the plane angled upward.

“What’s wrong with you?” Illya’s aunt always said subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.

“Nothing,” Napoleon replied, turning his entire face away from Illya.

Illya’s own fingers started tapping against the armrest as he joined Napoleon’s silence. He grew more agitated when he thought about Napoleon rejecting his help.

Another whimper was followed by a short gasp, which made Illya lean forward and grab the paper bag, thrusting it toward Napoleon.

“Take it.”

He continued to hold it out until Napoleon turned toward him, shocking Illya with his tear tracks.

“I’m not sick…well not in that way.”

Illya nodded, sticking the bag back in the front pocket, but continued to stare at the man he was slowly starting to see as almost cute as he fidgeted in his seat.

“What can I do?”

Napoleon gave a dejected sign, scrunching up his eyes as the plane hit turbulence.

“It’s just anxiety. I’ll let you enjoy your flight,” Napoleon started to turn toward the sun again before Illya grabbed his shoulder.

“Let me help. Do you have medication?” Illya didn’t have any experience with anxiety, save the chapter in his psychology textbook. Anger was more his forte. Still, he couldn’t just let Napoleon cry silently while he pretended to read a book he wasn’t even interested in anymore.

“I took some,” Napoleon answered, too panicked to worry about why he was spilling his guts to a stranger.

“Does anything else help?” Illya asked.

“My dog.” Napoleon’s stomach lurched as he thought of James Gordon in the cargo hold, instead of beside him, head on his lap.

“Where is he?” Illya remembered the golden retriever from when they were seated.

“They put him in a crate. I’m sorry, I have to go to the washroom,” Napoleon rushed out in one breath, not even checking the seat belt sign as he walked quickly to the front of the plane.

* * *

 

Normally, on solid ground, having someone who looked like Illya sitting beside Napoleon would lead to some charm, a proposition and perhaps future plans.

But all Napoleon could do was grip the sink and try to focus on the breathing techniques he had learned in his therapy session, but he felt like they were buried in the deep crevices in his mind as sobs escaped him.

Someone knocked on the door multiple times, asking him to hurry up.

He had to go back to his seat.

* * *

 

Illya glanced again at his father’s watch. It had been ten minutes since Napoleon disappeared and he was just about to get up and check on before the snack cart was beside him, pushed by the man who had been working at the gate.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Illya was ready to shake his head before he thought of Napoleon.

“Could I have a ginger ale for my…” What could Illya even call him? He certainly wasn’t a friend but Illya felt a strange pull to protect Napoleon. “Friend…and blanket and pillow?”

The attendant actually scoffed.

“Is that Napoleon Solo you were sitting beside? The spoiled brat?” Illya felt the sudden urge to flip the man over the cart but instead focused on the man’s name tag. Alexander Vinciguerra. Illya knew there would be a certain phone call placed to the airline company after he destroyed a few punching bags while he imagined Vinciguerra’s face.

“Did you know he wanted to bring his dog on here? Had some stupid vest too. Thankfully my wife caught on to his little plan."

“Be quiet,” Illya said through gritted teeth as he saw Napoleon come up behind Vinciguerra.

“We all think he is just a rotten guy who thinks he can get his way. Did you also know his mom died on a plane crash?” And no, Illya could not remember his cousin telling him that, but he felt he understood Napoleon’s anxiety a little a better.

“Thought he’d stop flying then and it would just be his dad, who is always great to chat with. Instead, he comes in with his ridiculous dog and ludicrous need for them to sit alone. And I bet he has actually stolen from us.”

And as Illya looked beyond Vinciguerra so he could try not to visualize hitting him, he saw Napoleon basically crumple into himself, eyes darting as if looking for an exit into the clouds.

But he didn’t look surprised, just sad, Illya noted, like he had heard the criticisms before, in various conversations. Illya wondered how many people judged him and his past. He suddenly felt ashamed that he was one of those people. Thievery or not, Illya could only admire Napoleon as he stood stock-still, waiting for Vinciguerra to continue.

“Just give me the ginger ale,” Illya said, wanting the cart as far away as possible.

“Fine,” Vinciguerra said, handing Illya the drink, actually looking disappointed Illya didn’t want to gossip.

“I’ll get the blanket and pillow for you after I finish.”

Finally he moved down the aisle, but Napoleon waited until he entered the economy section before he took his seat next to Illya.

“I’m sorry you heard that,” Illya said. He could practically feel Napoleon shivering.

“Nothing new,” Napoleon said, confirming Illya’s earlier worries. He started fidgeting again as the flight continued.

“I’m not your dog,” Illya swallowed, feeling nervous. “I’m not sure how to comfort, but I got you ginger ale.” He pointed to the cup, which was now on his tray. “And maybe blanket and pillow.”  

“Thank you,” Napoleon said in a genuine tone. “I know you didn’t want to sit near me.”

“What?” Napoleon smiled a little as he took the ginger ale from Illya’s tray, heart finally slowing down as he distracted himself with the conversation.

“I think I can read looks of disgust um…” Napoleon said. “I didn’t get your name.”

“It’s Illya.” The plane suddenly dipped and an announcement to fasten their seat belts came over the intercom. Napoleon was white again, Illya saw with dismay.

“Well Illya,” Napoleon swallowed, eyes shut tightly again. “I’m Napoleon.”

“I know who you are,” Illya said, hoping the conversation could be some distraction.

“That’s good,” Napoleon continued talking with his eyes closed. “Going to save me from peril?”

His hands were squeezing the metal armrests and Illya could have sworn he heard a crack.

“Take my hand,” Illya said.

“What?” Napoleon was now the one who sounded bewildered.

“It hurts less than metal. At least until turbulence stops.”

Napoleon looked hesitant until another sharp dip made him reach toward Illya. Both of Illya’s hands surrounded Napoleon’s shaking ones.

“Why are you helping me?” Napoleon asked.

“You need help,” Illya could hear his voice rising as Napoleon looked surprised. “I wasn’t going to ignore you.”

* * *

 

By the time the blanket and pillow arrived, Napoleon had drifted to sleep, exhausted by earlier events and Illya had settled into a light-hearted western.

Thankfully, it was another attendant who handed the items to Illya quietly. However, Napoleon still stirred.

“What are you watching Peril?” Illya could practically hear Napoleon’s smirk at the nickname.

“Western. Here, take blanket.”

Napoleon wrapped it around his legs before staring at the screen for a few moments.

“He looks like you,” Illya said.

“The cowboy, no way!” Napoleon sounded appalled.

“Yes, cowboy,” Illya smiled before he saw the time at the bottom of the screen. “We won’t finish movie before landing."

“Maybe we can finish it later?” Napoleon’s grin showed no hints of fear this time. “I mean, if you’re ever in New York.”

“You’re lucky I live in the same city as you, Cowboy.”


	2. Hurt Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hints of Napoleon's past bubble to the surface.

Napoleon flipped his phone around in his hand. The penthouse was quiet, which meant he could practically hear his heart thudding in his chest, along with James Gordon snoring beside him as he lay on the couch.

Although he had told Illya he would text him, he had yet to live up to that promise. Ever since they parted ways in the airport, his mind kept screaming at him that it was too good to be true, that Illya would never want to be with him, that Illya wasn’t even gay and that Napoleon himself came with too much baggage.

So instead he had spent the last three weeks holed up in his grandparents house, relishing in the memory of Illya walking with him to the baggage claim and waiting until he unlocked an excited James Gordon from his crate. He gave his dog a big hug before the excited golden retriever wagged his tail at Illya. Napoleon had nodded his OK at Illya and while he expected the tall man to pat his dog, he hadn’t thought Illya would drop to his knees and greet the animal for a couple of minutes.

After, as the two walked toward the exit with James, Napoleon had offered Illya a ride as he knew his driver was waiting. Illya had declined, claiming he had purchased a bus ticket, but they had exchanged numbers.

Since then, he could not get Illya’s face out of his head and would spend hours staring at his cellphone, trying to think of a way to reply to Illya’s numerous greetings. He would contemplate calling Illya, asking him to come over. His grandpa even started making jokes asking if Napoleon was banned from the numerous Hollywood Christmas parties because of all the women he had forgotten.

On one particular tough day, when his dad decided to make an appearance and he felt an urge to leave the house, Napoleon had even bought Illya a gift. Granted it was just a cinema gift card, but Napoleon had thought of it after he watched Illya scroll quickly through the movies on the plane as they waited for the people ahead of them to leave.

Napoleon had even watched the same cheesy Western on the way back to New York. He unfortunately hadn’t run into Illya again during his flight home. However, he was allowed to keep his dog and the rude flight attendant hadn’t made an appearance.

But he still couldn’t work up the nerve to call or text.

“James!” Napoleon’s dog cracked one eye open.

“Want to go for a walk?”

As Napoleon went to take the leash off the hook near the door and fit James into his service vest, he decided to grab Illya’s gift and slip it into the front pocket of his jacket, close to his heart.

* * *

 

Illya was sulking, practically glaring at every person they passed in Central Park. Even having Gaby, his former-girlfriend-turned-best-friend, beside him was doing nothing to lighten his mood.

She had dragged him to Washington Square Park originally, but after he practically yelled at the little boy he was playing chess with, they had taken the subway up to Central Park, one of her favourite places in New York.

Now, Illya was glaring moodily at the snow as it crunched beneath his feet.

“You know, your cousin warned me you’d be like this,” Gaby said. She had stayed close with Illya’s family, especially since the two continued to go to the same university. The whole family has also bonded over the eastern European connection, although Gaby insisted Germany was better than Russia.

“I figured you would be studying like a maniac even before the semester started to cure your broken heart, but I didn’t expect the silent treatment.”

Illya sighed. “I’m sorry. He didn’t even text back.” He knew Gaby was tired of the same story, but his annoyance wasn’t fading.

“Well, you did say he goes to Columbia. Why don’t you just try to run into him when school starts?” Gaby said.

Illya wrinkled his nose at the plan. He knew if this had happened to Gaby, she would be relentless, especially since she insisted Illya and Napoleon had “a strong moment,” but he wasn’t going to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want him.

He continued to stare at the snow, only glancing up when he heard a dog barking.

The small dog was freaking out as another dog passed them. Gaby was laughing as she watched the female owner try to control her pet, but Illya only had eyes for the person walking the other dog.

Napoleon Solo.

“We go now,” Illya said, steering Gaby to the right.

“Why?” she asked, peering around Illya’s body.

“Wait a minute, is that Napoleon?” Gaby recognized him from the magazines too, and before Illya could blink she was walking over to him, while Illya settled into his scowl. He turned away, hoping his gray cap could hide his face.

* * *

 

“Hey!” Napoleon jumped at the voice, slowly taking his headphones out of his ears as he turned to face the woman standing beside him. 

She was very beautiful, brown hair framing her face, and Napoleon briefly considered flirting with her before Illya’s face once again crossed his mind.

He shook his head to come back to his senses.

“Would you like an autograph?” He never really understood why he had fans. Sure, his dad was famous and there were rumours of him going into acting, but he was just an art student in New York. A boy with rich parents who had been in trouble with the law, but that wasn’t a rarity in this city.

“No,” And she was still smiling. “My name’s Gaby, you must be Napoleon.”

“Ya…” Napoleon shook the hand she had stretched toward him. “Um, not that I don’t appreciate a good conversation in Central Park, but why did you come over?" 

“Well you see…” And Napoleon saw her grin get wider. “My friend Illya just won’t stop talking about you.”

“You know Illya!” Napoleon could have winced at how eager he sounded, but he was just excited to hear his name.

“Yes,” Gaby said. “I do and I also know how you didn’t text him. Or call.”

“Ya…” Napoleon looked down. He didn’t know how to respond to that statement.

“Well the good news is you can explain. He’s right over there.”

Napoleon looked to where Gaby was pointing and saw the familiar gray cap Illya had placed on his head before he left the airport a couple of weeks ago.

 “I would suggest a coffee.”

* * *

 

And that’s how Illya and Napoleon found themselves sitting beside each other on a bench, each holding a coffee from a nearby vendor. James Gordon was resting comfortably at Napoleon’s feet. Gaby had excused herself, saying she was late for her shift at the mechanics, even though Illya knew for a fact she had at least another couple of hours.

The silence was heavy between them.

“Why didn’t you get back to me,” Illya finally spoke, crossing his arms as he set the coffee down beside him. Napoleon occupied himself by sipping his own coffee.

“So, no answer,” Illya said, tapping his arm and his leg simultaneously. “I should just go.”

He stood half to leave and half to relieve the anger coursing through him. He heard Napoleon make a small noise behind him.

“What!?” Illya turned back. “Finally going to say something.”

Napoleon stayed quiet, once again looking at his dog.

“I don’t get you Napoleon,” Illya said. If he was going to walk away, he could at least say what he had been thinking these past couple of weeks.

“I thought we would at least talk after plane ride. But no. I help you and you just cast me aside. I thought I misjudge you, but I guess what all those tabloids say is right.”

Illya was trying to keep his tapping under control and missed the hurt look crossing Napoleon’s face 

“That wasn’t it, Illya,” Napoleon said. “I just…I just didn’t know what to say.”

He didn’t say what he really wanted to, about how he didn’t know how to start any kind of relationship without sleeping with the person first. Or a second time. It’s what he was good for. 

As he looked up at the angry Russian, he wondered if maybe that’s what the man wanted. So he stood up as well.

“Illya,” And he was stepping forward, leaning forward, trying to meet Illya’s lips before strong hands pushed him back.

“Napoleon, what are you doing?” Illya didn’t sound angry anymore, just confused.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Napoleon asked, stepping back. James Gordon whined behind him.

“What? No Napoleon…” Illya didn’t get a chance to finish as Napoleon grabbed James Gordon’s leash.

 “I get it ok,” Napoleon said, walking away from the bench. “I’m just going to go home. I want to go home.”


	3. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon and Illya bond.

Illya stared, dumbfounded, at Napoleon’s retreating figure. He was still bewildered at Napoleon’s sudden flip from cold to hot, then back to cold, but the one thought invading his mind is that he didn’t want to see Napoleon leave again. At least he knew some part of Napoleon wanted him.

So he waited until he could barely see Napoleon and James, before he started following them, being sure to keep to the side of the walkway and in between trees. He had learned from a very early age that although he was tall, he knew how to avoid being the centre of attention.

After Illya’s head was practically dusty with snowflakes, they finally reached Napoleon’s building. Not once had Napoleon spared a glance behind his shoulder, so Illya was surprised when he heard him call out.

“Are you going to stay out in the cold or come in with me?”

As Illya emerged from the side of the building, he was met with a small smile and a whine from James. 

“You knew I was following you,” Illya said.

“Yes, years with the paparazzi tailing you will do that,” Napoleon sighed. “You don’t have to come up. I just thought you might prefer warming up instead of walking to wherever you are going.”

“I’d like to come in,” Illya said. “Should I expect any more surprise kisses?" 

He immediately regretted his question when he saw the forlorn look on Napoleon’s face.

“I’m sorry I did that, Illya,” Napoleon said. “I hope you have a nice night.”

He tugged at James Gordon’s leash and Illya knew he had to speak up.

“Look, it was just a shock,” Illya said, making Napoleon turn again.

Illya felt suddenly shy, but he wanted to put Napoleon at ease “To tell you the truth, I kind of… imagined it a bit over Christmas break.”

He almost rolled his eyes at the smirk on Napoleon’s face, proving why he didn’t like to blurt out emotional statements, but was saved from agonizing over his vulnerability when Napoleon waved at him to follow.

“Come on,” he said. “I make a mean truffle risotto.” 

* * *

 

Luckily, Napoleon had all of the ingredients in his kitchen and having made the recipe so many times, was able to stand calmly by the stove, James Gordon resting near him. Both his and James’ eyes followed Illya as he fidgeted at the kitchen table, before playing with the salt-and-pepper shakers when Napoleon declined his help.

He later migrated into the living room, examining each of the items, little knick-knacks and pictures Napoleon didn’t even spare a thought over anymore. His hand was hovering over an ebony antique chess set when Napoleon called out that dinner was ready.

“This is good, Cowboy,” Illya said, after he had eaten half of his share, Napoleon lagging slightly behind.

“Thank you,” Napoleon replied, unable to stop staring as Illya’s pink lips wrapped around his fork. He cleared his throat when Illya finished and gestured toward Napoleon’s plate.

“You going to finish?”

“Yes,” Napoleon shook his head slightly, turning back to his own food. “Feel free to have seconds.”

The warmth spreading through him had nothing to do with the hot food, though, as he watched Illya go back to the stovetop. While it might have been impractical to invite an almost stranger into his penthouse, he felt he was both thanking Illya for all his help during the plane ride and making up for his previous error.

Illya started eating a bit slower during his second plate.

“You seem to appreciate good food, Peril,” Napoleon said, crossing his knife and fork.

Illya swallowed. “Yes. Gaby and I tried something like this before, during first week in New York. She claimed it smelled like feet, so I tend to try fine dining alone…when I can afford it.”

Napoleon felt himself grow even fonder of Illya at that little admission. He probably had guessed Napoleon knew he didn’t have as much money as Napoleon did, but didn’t feel the need to hide that fact.

“Are you and Gaby close?” Napoleon said, unsure of their relationship. She had insisted on the coffee, but if there was anything between those two or any hint of something starting, he would back off.

“Yes,” Illya moved to take Napoleon’s plate. “We dated, but now she is best friend.” The dishes clanked together as Illya started the water and found the soap. “We both miss home.”

As if he could sense Illya’s homesickness, James Gordon emerged from under the table and padded over to the sink, nudging at Illya’s leg until Illya turned to pet him.

“He is nice dog,” Illya said, abandoning the dishes as he continued to crouch down, Napoleon joining him soon after.

“He actually used to be part of a school reading program when he was first a puppy,” Napoleon said, laughing a little as James wagged his tail. “Extremely well-mannered and would let the kids read him anything. Unfortunately for them, but fortunately for me, his owner had to leave the country, so I took up the training.”

“He’s been a great help to you,” Illya said, looking at Napoleon instead of the dog.

Coughing, Napoleon looked away from Illya’s concentrated stare.

“How about I finish up the dishes and you wait in the living room? I saw you eyeing that chess set,” Napoleon said, moving away from the subject at hand.

“You play?” If possible, Illya’s eyes lit up even more then when he was letting James cuddle up to him.

“It’s been a few years, but I think I can hold my own.”

* * *

 

Illya beat Napoleon five times before Napoleon threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Why aren’t you a professional player?” Napoleon said, setting the pieces back in their original positions. Illya was still staring intently at the board like he was already mapping out which moves Napoleon would use during their next match. Napoleon decided to throw him off by standing. There was a deck of cards tucked away in the bookshelf, but when Napoleon headed back to the table, Illya was once again looking around at the room.

When he stopped at one particular picture, Napoleon’s heart jolted.

“Is this your mother?” The frame Illya was staring at contained a snapshot of Napoleon in front of an airplane with a dark-haired woman, her arms wrapped around Napoleon.

He knew the picture well as it was taken a week before she died.

“Yes.” A clipped answer was all Illya got.

“Hmm,” Illya said, unperturbed. “She looks like you.”

A lump grew in Napoleon’s throat as images came flooding back that he usually tried to block out. Strangers often made the same statement, especially when they travelled together in the warm summers, his dad sometimes tagging along on their adventures when he wasn’t working. He thought his mom looked better than him though, her dark curly hair always blowing in the wind, as she laughed, eager to explore the city, country and sky.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Illya’s next question, but he felt his hand on his shoulder.

“Napoleon?”

He could only look into Illya’s pale eyes for his second, noting his cheeks were a bit red, before glancing down. They were the most striking eyes, filled with intense compassion.

“I miss her,” Napoleon said as way of explanation. His eyes followed Illya’s fingers, brow furling as they started to stroke the worn-out watch wrapped around Illya’s wrist. 

“We should go out,” Illya said.

“I thought that’s what were doing,” Napoleon joked, relieved they were done talking about the picture. “Or do you insist on dancing after dinner?”

“I do not dance,” Illya grumbled. Napoleon stored the thought away, before he thought of the gift in his jacket.  

“Let’s go see a movie instead.”

* * *

 

It was an amusing trip to the theatre as Napoleon argued that they should see the latest superhero movie while Illya insisted on a foreign-language feature, which had received great reviews. Both were convinced their movie was the best option, Illya even crossing his arms the entire subway ride while making his point.

In the end, Napoleon conceded, reasoning that if this movie date went well, they could see the superhero flick another time. Illya’s smile when he won the argument was also worth it and Napoleon found himself grinning too as they held hands starting 10 minutes after the trailers.

People rushed around them down the wet street when they finally exited the theatre, hands still linked. Napoleon insisted he take Illya back to his apartment in Bushwick, so they found themselves on the platform, waiting for the late train to come pick them up. Illya had rejected Napoleon calling a car and Napoleon found he didn’t mind standing close to him instead of being wary of his driver in the front seat.

“Would it be ok if I kissed you?” Illya asked, breaking through the sounds of late night murmurings and obnoxious music coming from one guy’s cellphone. Asking was his way of controlling the situation, Napoleon figured, instead of being shocked when Napoleon pecked him on the lips. It was a smart move and Napoleon pushed away the shame he felt at his earlier actions.

Illya’s tall stature meant he had a bend a little to meet Napoleon, but they found each other easily, lips moving together, eyes closed as Illya’s mouth parted, Napoleon exploring with his tongue. His hands found Illya’s short hair, Illya’s hands wandering down his thick jacket.

They missed two passing trains and the sound of a camera going off behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have been shamelessly listening to Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now when writing this chapter.


End file.
